The Hanging Tree
by fallingunderthestars
Summary: Phil Lester is sent to Briarwood acadamy after being kicked out of his last school. Though he comes to find that there's a lot he doesn't know about the school. Five dead students, and a sick cult of students intent of getting their side of the bargain of The Hanging Tree. There's also that voice in the supposedly haunted Wycombe woods. The voice of a boy.


_Okay, so fanfiction's being a prick and not letting me put spaces between parts so, sorry if it looks ridiculous :/_

Are you

Are you

Coming to the tree

They strung up a man

They say who murdered three.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met at midnight

In the hanging tree.

The tune was haunting yet calming in the boys mind as he crunched his way through multi-coloured autumn leaves lying on the ground. His lips were parted as he hummed the melody softly under his breath, which billowed in the freezing air around him. A simple black pyjama t-shirt and cotton pants clung to his thin frame whilst his bare feet marched almost trancelike through the trees. The boy seemed to be walking erratically, his eyes half open as if he was sleepwalking, yet there was the ghost of a smile on his face as he continued to hum the haunting melody to himself. There was only silence around him accompanied with shadows of the trees he walked blindly through. Branches hitting him in the face, scratching his face and clinging to his clothes. He never flinched. The icy chill in the air brought Goosebumps to his bare arms, but the boy's expression never changed from dreamy. Almost as if he was completely mystified by the brilliant white light of the moon which hung between the trees, high in the sky. It was a foggy night. The entire forest had been enveloped in a thick grey mist. A colourless fog which stuck to the boys clothes and turned his face a light crimson. All of this didn't seem to the affect the boy as he carried on walking through the thicket. Arms dead at his sides. The boy stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. He only smiled, continuing to the hum the tune softly. Brown eyes half open. His hair was dark and shaggy, falling his in his eyes, but he never once brushed it back. He left it there where it completely obstructed his vision but the boy stared through the strands lying in his vision. Straight ahead.

Straight ahead at nothing.

"Keep going!" a young male voice sounded, and then a boy of fifteen years old with short dark hair, his person a mystery, hidden by the shadows. The only thing which could be made out was his outline. Small and stocky. Northern accent. Low. Almost a growl. Laced with impatience.

The boy never looked back, or even acknowledged the second boy. He only continued on, stepping through thorn brush, his clothes and skin catching on the spikes, drawing blood down his arms.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Mr. Impatient kept trail of the boy, stepping where he stepped, reaching out a few times and grabbing the boy's shoulders and driving him forwards roughly.

Unlike the dreamer, who seemed to be in a semi-trance like state, Mr. Impatient was the opposite. He teemed emotion. Mainly anger and irritance as he shoved the boy through the dark forest.

Also unlike Dreamer Boy, Mr Impatience wore a jacket to shield him from the bitter breeze. Underneath that a blue cloak which nearly touched his ankles. Strange wear for a teenage boy, but go with it. Along with the strange ceremonial robe he wore boots and thick thermal gloves, carrying a rucksack over his shoulder. As the fog started to clear bit by bit, Mr Impatience started to become more and more defined and human. No longer a shadow in the fog with a bad attitude. Through anyone's distinct vision Mr. Impatient was in fact the boy's age, with lengthy brown hair in a zigzaggy fringe across his forehead. He had hold of the boy's waist now, while his out-of-it companion continued to hum the sweet tune repeatedly. Mr Impatient had a face like thunder. His eyes which were a dark green, narrowed slits. His lips were pressed together in a fine line and with every passing moment and soft humming coming from the boys lips, his fingernails began to dig into The Dreamer's bare shoulders. Mr Impatient wished the boy was awake enough to feel the pain, and that thought was enough to keep him going. Through the trees, driving the young boy further and further towards The Hanging Tree. A wry smile appeared on Mr Impatient's lips, slits for eyes becoming less profound until the boy looked as if he might be smiling.

"Are you…are you…coming to the tree," The Dreamer's humming sluggishly turned into a murmured, almost breathy singing. He never blinked. Never taking notice of his companion's brutal embrace. Mr Impatient breathed out a laugh, gripping the boy's shoulders harder, so raw red lines protruded in The Dreamers skin. "Oh, we're taking you to the fucking tree, alright." He muttered a hint of ecstasy in his tone. "Don't you fucking worry about that, mate."

"He can't hear you. Idiot." This time a girl's voice came from the fog, and Mr Impatient sighed, turning his head and rolling his eyes. "You're late." He growled at thin air. The Dreamer attempted to move forwards, so he grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards.

"Why so rough, Dean?"

Mr Impatience – or Dean, watched heatedly, as a girl his age stepped out of the fog. If Carrie Hope Fletcher had been in any other story where she stepped out of fog, into a misty forest, she might have had a flowing dress on and been barefoot. Better yet, maybe make her a faerie. Her heart shaped face and long curly hair fused with pale skin and soft smile would make her the perfect protagonist. Yet this Carrie wore no fancy dresses. The fanciest thing about her was probably the sparkly clip she used to hold back her blonde curls in a ponytail. The rest of her was pretty much a typical teenager. Like Dean, she wore all blue, also carrying a backpack over her shoulder.

"So," Carrie says, tilting her head to look at the sky. "We're actually doing this." She then looks at Dean, and the corners of her mouth incline into a small smile. "Where are the others?"

Dean shrugs. "Probably already there," and then he grabs hold of The Dreamer boy, once again shoving him forwards. Throughout the entirety of Dean and Carrie's conversation, the boy stood still and immobile. Still singing softly to himself. By now his skin was starting to go blue. One of many signs of pneumonia. The boy's eyes never widened, they stayed half shut, and his lips, parted. While he sang. He continued to sing as Dean and Carrie goaded him through the forest. As he walked, his bare feet caught on sharp rocks and thorns dug harshly into the skin of his sole. But he never cried out once. Only smiled. As if he welcomed pain. He was under the control of something.

Or someone.

Dean and Carrie ambled behind him in silence. The two of them stared ahead, both secretly enjoying the unsettling harmony The Dreamer continued to sing in a breathy murmur.

"Are you..are you..coming to the tree," The boy walked blindly through the trees, all while continuing to sing. After a while Carrie and Dean also seemed to succumb to the boy's singing, the two of them adapting the same unnerving smile on their faces. Dean began to hum, with Carrie joining in, and the boy singing the melody. The three teens made their way through the thick fog, bypassing tress and through bushes, until finally they arrived at a clearing, where seven other figures stood, all of them enveloped in the fog. The only thing that could be made out from the figures was flowing blue cloaks hanging from them. Whipping around in the breeze. They stood in a circle, not quite trance-like but nobody moved or talked. Standing in a peaceful silence around a tall tree which was naked of leaves. A hoop of rope hung from it in the shape of a large noose.

Dean and Carrie led The Daydreamer to the centre of the growing circle where he stopped abruptly underneath the lingering rope, which was tied in three knots. Yellow and ratty.

All eyes turned to the boy, who seemed out of place in the strange meeting place. Unlike the others Daydreamer only wore thin pyjama's. No ceremonial robe.

"Finally," another boy stepped into the circle. This time he had an American accent, and seemed to be the only one, minus Dean, in the circle, with a smile on his face. The boy was completely shaded by his cloak, like the others, which hung off his figure and over his head, dangling in his eyes. The boy stared at The Daydreamer with a similar look as Dean and Carrie. Greed. Not much could be said about him, but just looking at his shadow, you could imagine a nasty smirk plastered on his lips. "Are we going to do this?" he raises his voice yet nobody was speaking. And walks slowly over to Daydreamer boy, stopping in front of the frozen boy who was still humming softly to himself. Daydreamer's expression never changed, unsurprisingly. And that made the leader of the strange teenage cult chuckle. "Mate?" he waved a hand in front of the stationary boy, waggling his fingers teasingly. "Oil! Maaaattteee!" he drawled wickedly, And somewhere in the circle, Dean laughed. Carrie's lip twitching into a sly smirk.

"Can we just get this over with?" A girl standing next to Carrie hissed. She, like the others wore a light blue robe over matching tights. All you could make out from her was long red hair blowing in her face. She hugged herself with a groan. "It's freezing! Haven't we dragged it on enough?!"

"Emma," The boy who had been waving his arms in front of Daydreamer Boy's face sent her a look. But then addressed the in a slow, calming voice, and all eyes, even the hypnotised boys, focused on him. He smiled at them, as if seeing them for the first time. "Welcome," his smile turned into a grin, and he spread out his arms. "I do believe we have our willing volunteer?" he smirked at the immobile boy standing in front of him. The hooded boy- the leader, took one look at Daydreamer boy and clicked his fingers in front of his face. "How did you get him?" he turns to Dean, eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement. The other boy shrugs. "Wasn't hard. Just a simple hypnotism incantation," Dean eyed the petrified boy with a grin. "He was too fucking easy."

The leader grins at Dean's remark and prods daydreamer boy. "I don't want to be a fucking sacrifice!" he mimics the boy's voice almost perfectly. "I have a family! Leave me alone!" he continues to poke fun and the teens standing around start to laugh spitefully.

"Well too. Fucking. Bad!" The leader laughs, slapping the boy across the face. Daydreamer boy stays rooted to the spot but his cheek turns a light crimson. "We have you right where we want you. " the leader continues with his speech, however clique, and Daydreamer boy stood there and sang the tune which was in all of their heads softly to himself. As if it relaxed him. Blocked out the nasty jeers and insults the leader was throwing at him.

"Felix." The redheaded girl- Emma, said loudly. Her voice was inpatient. She hadn't joined in the teasing. Only standing with her head tilted, eyes on the sky. "Can we get this over with?" her teeth were gritted. Maybe because of the cold. Or maybe because she was regretting all of this. This so called 'club.' How she had lost close friends because of it, and was about to lose another. Standing up to Felix meant her name being put up for next month, and the thought sent chills down her spine. However, she couldn't watch them just kill him!

"Patience Emma!" Felix grinned at her, but the look she sent back made him roll his eyes. "Alright then!" he began. "All in favour of the sacrifice of our little friend here, to complete this month's attempt, say i." The circle chorused with their 'I's' and Emma breathed hers, unable to stop staring at her friend. Standing there helplessly. A sheep being lead to the slaughterhouse, she thought.

"Right then, let's begin." The leader- Felix, started the strange ritual by producing a roll of duct tape and tying the boy's hands together. He never flinched or blinked. Still under complete control.

Dean led the boy over to a stool which was perched upon the undergrowth directly under the tree and lifted him onto it. From there he lowered the noose around the boy's neck.

"Wake up," Dean, Felix and the others crowded around the boy, who stood on the stool, his hands tied in front of him. When he didn't respond to the trigger word, Dean sighed impatiently, a plume of white exploding from his mouth, mixing in the icy air when he cursed loudly. "I said wake up!"

"What?" Daydreamer boy's eyes snapped open, widening in curiosity- later turning to horror and confusion when he fully registered what was going on. The dazed and submissive look diminished from his face, and upon seeing Felix and the others, he fully came out of the trance, opening his mouth to scream, but choking out gibberish instead. "What's going on?!" he demands shakily. He doesn't seem scared. More angry. As if he knew what was happening. Of course he did. He'd seen it happen to Jack Howard, Evan Edinger, and Troye Sivan- and now…now he was next. He was this month's blessing. "Are you..are you seriously going to-?" his voice became a desperate and childlike whimper. The cold suddenly hits him, and he shudders, attempting to hug warmth into himself but ultimately fails, his bounded hands hanging helplessly in front of him. +

Felix nods. "Sorry, mate. You know what we have to do."

"You did willingly walk here." Dean jumped in helpfully, sending the now sobbing boy a smirk.

"I- I didn't though!" the boy protests. And his eyes widen in realization at Dean.

"You." He spits, and his eyes narrow into slits. His lips start to murmur something but Carrie shakes her head with a smirk. "You're powerless, idot."

Dean laughed. "Yeah. Me." He rolls his eyes. "You signed the contract mate. Even wrote your name in blood."

The boy starts to cry properly then. Brown eyes filling with tears, leaking down his cheeks. The circle watched him. None of them sympathetic. Even Emma rolled her eyes. "You did give yourself to us."

"A game!" the boy splutters. "I thought it was a- a game at first! You- you welcomed me to your fucking group! You dragged me into this!" he struggles, but not too much. The noose still hangs around his neck, and his gaze darts fearfully around, trying a last desperate attempt to escape.

"You know that once a month one of us must sacrifice ourself." Felix says quietly, but there's a grin stretched across his face. "it's part of the promise we made to them."

At the mention of 'them' the group of teens shivered inwardly. Even Felix. They were never to speak about 'them.' Only give a willing life to them every month. To keep the scales balanced between life and death. How exactly the teens had this responsibility on their shoulders is a whole other story.

"Times up." Felix eyes the sky, which is starting to turn from a deep black to a hazy purple. Sunrise was soon, and a life must be given up before the sun raised. He moved forwards towards the boy slowly whilst Daydreamer sobbed and cried that it wasn't fair. He wanted his family. He was leaving behind a family who will never know what he got himself impossibly entangled into. "Wait!" he yells when Felix and Dean tighten the rope around his neck. His face flushes a deep red and his eyes, red raw from crying, close slowly. "Let me do it." He whispers. And cracks open an eyelid to look at Dean. "m'not giving you the satisfaction," the boy says. Before Dean can hit back with an insult, there's a flash of movement. And like every time, there's a body hanging suspended from The Hanging tree. Just like every month. And like every other time, nothing is ever given back.

It goes so fast.

The teens wait a few seconds. Felix staring at the sky, and Dean eyeing the boy's body sagging in the shape of a backwards C. He's the first to speak. His voice slightly panicked. "It didn't work."

Felix didn't reply. His gaze now on the hanging tree.

It happened every month. They always lied.

The boy's mouth twisted into an angry scowl. "I killed-" he swallowed, his face paling. "How many have we killed?" his voice is low and dangerous when he turns to face the others.

"Five." Emma's reply is icy. Almost spat.

"Felix," Dean mutters. "That's five dead. The police are already on our heels!" he hissed.

"We need more." Felix announces, and Emma's blood runs cold.

"More?" she echoes.

Felix eyes the body still hanging lifelessly before turning away. "We get more." He said. "I don't care if it becomes once a fucking week. We're getting their half of the fucking deal."

"Right?" he waits for the circle's chorused 'okay' and grabs his bag which was lying on the ground. "Get your stuff. We're off." He walked off with Dean at his heels, the others following, leaving the body of the boy still hanging. Because that was part of the deal they had been forced to make.

Always leave something hanging from The Hanging Tree.

"Another school?"

Incapable of repressing the inevitable sigh threatening to escape my lips, I fake a smile when mum hands me my backpack and a few quid for some lunch. "What makes you think this school is going to be better for me?" I shoulder my backpack and begin my incredible talent of stalling time by leaning against the doorframe whilst mum searches for the car keys she swore she had a minute ago.

"Phil." Mum gives me that look, and I just shake my dark hair from my eyes, resisting the urge to groan. "What was wrong with my last school?" I mumble, playing with the thread on my new school tie. It's tacky and the colours disgust me. Yellow and black? Who designed these things?!

"Phil," mum repeats my name, but this time in a more parental warning tone. I know I've pushed it too far when she uses that tone. I know the answer, but I still question her. Why can't she just home school me? I repeat the thought, and this time she ignores me. Continuing to search her bag.

"God dammit, I thought I had them!" my mother sighs in frustration, pushing her long dark hair out of her eyes and rushes back into the house. I hold the door open for her sending her a teasing smile.

Fortunately I inherited the only thing I considered not a flaw from mum. Her dark hair which she usually wore in a tight ponytail for work., but today it hung loose in her eyes. My eyes were the same colour as hers, a greyish blue. It was only me and mum. Dad left when I was- what? About a day old. Mum sued to tell me stories about dad's pretty assistant called Caroline who he ran off with. Leaving me and mum to live off mum's pretty basic job of being a surgery receptionist.

We got by though. Everything was fine. I'd planned it all out. Mums will home-school me, and as soon as I turn eighteen I can get away from this boring village and head off to Uni in York.

"You probably left them on the kitchen table!" I yell over my shoulder, chuckling to myself. I stand in the open doorway heading outside into the suburban neighbourhood I live on. The sky's a grim grey, and I pull a face tugging on the drawstrings of my hoodie. My school isn't even in my village, it's at least twenty minutes away, just outside London. Some prestigious academy for 'Intolerable' kids.

I roll my eyes, letting my gaze wonder along my street. There are a few year 10's from my old school walking by yelling about some 'crazy night' they had on Saturday, and my smile disappears. I avert my gaze and stare down at the pavement. I can feel my face flushing red and silently curse myself.

"Found them!" mum rushes out of the house in a blur of strong perfume and her scarf flying in the whipping wind which has just picked up. "Ready?" she unlocks the car and I drag myself down the driveway and into her posh Vauxhall, dumping my bag and sliding onto the leather seats.

Mum turns the central heating on automatically, going on about how it was going to snow, according to BBC news. I grumble something even I can't understand and sit back in a huff, pulling my backpack to my chest. Mum starts the car and switches the radio on. "You're quiet!" she trills in her normal too-happy-for-Monday-morning-voice. I lean against the window with a sigh. "Maybe that's got something to do with sending me to a posh school for troubled kids." I mutter, letting my gaze wander as we turn onto the motorway. It's your average Monday traffic jam. Mum stops at a traffic light and fiddles with the radio finding a good station. She catches me eye in the wing mirror and once again she's giving me that look. "Phil, I know how much you hate school…" she begins, but I don't let her finish. "Hate?" I scoff. "What are you talking about mum? I LOVE school!" I Shoot back sarcastically, and she looks like she's going to start yelling or ranting, but thank god for traffic lights.

"Phil." Mum begins to say when she starts the car off again. A lorry zooms past displaying the logo for Walls ice-cream and my stomach churns. Of course I forgot to eat breakfast, it's my first day.

"Don't bother," I cut her off before she's even finished whatever point she's trying to make. I close my eyes and focus my hearing on the radio. Even if the way too plucky DJ was talking animatedly about some shit I don't care about. We live in Doreston. Which is about twenty five minutes away from Briarwood Academy (pronounced Bry-er-wood- according to mum).

That's about twenty minutes to kill with a radio station that was seriously pissing me off, my stomach doing nervous flip flop's and my mother's infuriating singing to some cheesy pop song.

I stare out of the window to kill time at passing traffic and the occasional idiotic pedestrian who thought it was funny to step out onto the road. It's a foggy morning, and most cars have their headlights on. I find it weirdly calming watching the bright lights flashing through the thick fog.

However my stomach does an unhealthy flip when a huge sign comes into view above telling us that we were coming into Fauxton. The small town where the school was located. As we drove past the sign I sat up in my seat peering curiously out of the window. Fauxton was pretty much the same as our village. Only bigger with a football ground and community pool. "How about we take you swimming one day?" mum cheerily points to the sign reading; 'FAUXTON LEASURE CENTRE' and I roll my eyes. As we drive through we pass at least four churches and two primary schools, but Briarwood was nowhere to be seen. Mum kept looking at the map the school had sent her, going around in circles and occasionally rolling the car window down asking random passers-by for directions.

I sat in the back preying that by some miracle Briarwood had burned down in a horrific accident where nobody was actually hurt. There was just no school there anymore.

"Scuse me!" Mum swerves into the side of the road and I'm at least 50% sure she's parked outside some random nursery school where there is a clear sign behind us saying; 'No Parking."

My prayers are shattered when mum sticks her head out of the window calling over a young woman with a toddler. I shiver when the outside world hits my ears as soon as the windows are rolled completely down and the comfort of the car is no longer here. I'll have to get out soon and walk into a school where I will know nobody. I will be completely alone. My stomach flips again and I start mentally diagnosing myself for stomach flu or food poisoning. What had I eaten last night? Could I get this day off by saying I felt ill? (In hindsight I actually do feel ill- so why wouldn't she believe me?)

"Hiya love!" mum greets the women politely and she smiles back, sticking a dummy in the toddler's mouth. "Sorry, but could you tell us where Briarwood Prep is?" mum asks, and I sink into my seat, burying my face in my backpack.

Say no

Say no

Say no

Oh god, please say no.

"Yes!" the woman says way too enthusiastically. I start to wonder if she can see me practically head-butting my school bag in the back seat. "Oi, play nicely Lily!" she scolds the toddler who grasps for the packet of Monster Munch the women had in her other hand. "If you keep going along this road and turn left, that's the dead-end . There's a forest right next to it! Wycombe Woods?" Mum nods in understanding while I try to figure out a way to get out of the inevitable. "The school's just at the other end of the woods, love." The women tells mum. "There are kids always going in there on a morning," her smile slowly turns into a frown though and she clutches the child closer. "No idea why

though. Wycombe woods? They say it's one of the most haunted places in the UK!" she exclaims in a strong Manchester accent. Mum smiles politely, seemingly ignoring whatever else the women had said. "So that's straight forward and turn left?" mum rolls the window up with a thanks, and once again we're off. I sit frozen in the back seat, staring out of the window at kids with matching school uniform as we made their way slowly down the road. The same direction we were going.

"Wycombe woods." Mum reads off the wooden sign which looks like it's seen better days. Most of the 'W' in 'Wycombe' had rubbed off so technically it was 'Yombe Woods.' It was also covered in graffiti varying from gang signs to bright red marker pen practically screaming: 'STAY OUT."

We park the car in the clearing, and I reluctantly drag myself out and into the freezing cold. Once I'm out I get a sudden stab of nausea and grit my teeth, rotating on my heel, getting a good look at this so called 'haunted wood.' It doesn't look haunted, it looks shit. It's literally a clearing, with a stone path leading into a bunch of trees. When I squinted I could glimpse the soaring roofs of Briarwood.

It's freezing cold and I hug my arms around my chest, teeth chattering. The air is still thick with fog which burns my throat when I breathe.

I turn to mum, with 'I don't want to go' ready to slip from my lips, but she's already in the car and waving goodbye. "I'll pick you up here after work!" she yells. Then; 'I'm so proud of you Phil!"

I can't bring myself to yell at her, so I just smile and tell her I'll make my own way home tonight. Home's at least an hour away on foot, but I need the exercise as well as the peace.

Mum drives off leaving me choking on exhaust fumes, and I turn around to see if there's anyone around. Nope. The sign intimidates me as I step into the clearing. I swear I can make out other messages on the decaying wood, but before curiosity grabs my attention, I step into the woods, not looking back. Because in all the scary films, there's always somewhere there…watchin_g_ you.

Part 2 –

The wood is silent. And every noise nearly gives me a heart attack.

The only noise is the crunch of dead leaves in the undergrowth as I tread through dead brush and nettle bushes. The path is barely there. Only a few red bricks forming a pretty shit line going straight ahead. Trees loom over me, and I can't help feeling uneasy, since the air is still thick with a numbing fog, which had already frozen my toes. I had to pull the sleeves over my hands so my fingers wouldn't go numb. I have to admit, I get what the women meant by 'haunting'. I can barely see an inch in front of me and any other way apart from the path, is blocked by impossible tall trees which were practically touching the sky. Who's idea was it to build a school next to a supposedly 'haunted' woods anyway? I make a mental note to research this place online when I get back home.

My mind wanders as I make my way down the slowly deteriorating path, dancing along bits of broken stone and abandoned wooden boards. I think of my old school, and Travis Holmes. And Travis Holmes's broken nose once I had rammed my fist into it at full force.

"I should be home-schooled…" I mutter to myself grimly. Ducking under a branch.

"Okay, one, why the hell are you in here on your own? Two, what's with the talking to yourself?"

Then a female laugh. "I'm guessing you're new dude."

I twist around, startled, finding a girl standing there staring at me questioningly. Dark brown curly hair and olive skin. She's wearing a woollen pink cardigan over her school shirt and tie, and shouldering a backpack covered in badges of bands.

I can't think of a good retort so I find myself firing back, "Why are you?"

The girl raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend," she says. Her eyes are a pretty blue colour and I'd probably fancy her if I wasn't into guys. "Ah right," I say. Because I can't think of anything else. The girl's still staring at me, and I can't help feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. "I'm Phil, by the way." I say, and feel stupid as soon as it slips from my mouth. She smiles and nods. "India." She smiles curtly. "But I prefer Indie."

"Hi." I smile at her, and she grins back. "Hello!" she grabs my arm and starts pulling me down the path. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how about we get out of here?" she says breathlessly and I stumble over bushes and branches in the undergrowth trying to keep up with her.

Indie pulls me through the thicket of trees and I only really see a blur of green as she jumps over fallen branches, yanking me over them too. "Trust me mate!" she says, keeping her eyes ahead. "You do not want to be in here on your own," and pauses. "Even in broad daylight."

"Uh…okay?" I don't question her obsession with getting out of the forest. Even if I want to. Indie pulls me the right direction, and before I know if, we're on the grounds of Briarwood Academy. Students in the school colours and already milling inside and I follow Indie quickly up the steps towards the entrance. This school is nothing like my last one. It resembles a giant museum from the outside, made entirely of red brick with soaring towers. But as soon as I walk inside, the infrastructure is more modern. The reception area is huge with settees and a TV mounted on the wall. Indie walks me over to the desk and then turns to go. It suddenly hits me that she never met her boyfriend. "I'll see you at lunch if I'm not in any of your classes!" she yelled over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. "Nice meeting you, Phil!" and before I can thank her for showing me the way she's vanished in the sea of students.

"May I help you?"

I turn around to see a middle aged woman with greying hair and thick rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of a pointy nose. "Anything I can help you with?" her voice was already going through me. She sounded like she'd been smoking for the last fifty odd years. I smile or rather force a smile.

"Hi, I'm Phil Lester. I've just started here today- um…" I hesitate and before I can carry on, she's typing into her computer and her mouth has formed a scowl. "Sorry, what was your last name?" she mutters, eyes still glued to her computer screen behind the desk. "Lester," I repeat. Then I spell it spell it out earning another dirty look from her. "I know how to spell kid." She grumbles. "Your name wasn't in the system but ah! Here it is!" she forces a grin and I can see she has a few teeth missing. "Right at the bottom," she stares at the screen, a smirk curving on her lips. "Under the most recent dead student." She murmurs under her breath and I can't help it. How can I keep my mouth shut after she says something like that? "Sorry, what?" I fake a laugh, but the receptionist isn't laughing. Her eyes are still on the computer screen. "Funny," she mutters. "He should be off the system."

I stare at her, not knowing what to say. "Dead student?" I can't help repeating. "Sorry, what?"

The receptionist ignores me and hands over a few papers which I grab and stuff in my bag. "Those are your schedules, Phil. You're in form 11T. It's just on the art block- ah; they're in form at the moment. If you just walk in you'll be fine, Mr Prescott is expecting you."

I can't help wonder why the receptionist has suddenly developed a personality and soul. She was acting like she had eight seconds to live a few minutes ago. "Okay." I say, but I don't turn around. The women's eyes are on her computer screen, but they keep flickering up to meet mine. After a few seconds of awkward eye-contact she sighs. "Look Kid," she leans over the desk and I catch the overpowering smell of lavender. "This school might have few-"she hesitates. "Problems." She decides. And I have a hard time trying to understand what 'problems' she meant. Indie, the girl I met in the woods, seemed to be in a hurry to get through the forest. Even in the daylight. Then there was the young mum who talked to me and mum. And what's all this about a dead student?

Most recent dead student. My mind reminds me.

"But," she continues. "I'll have you know, apart from the um… problems, all our year eleven's achieve A-C every single year!" she beams at me expecting me to grin back.

I don't smile. But my inner Sherlock Holmes kicks into gear and the cogs in my brain start to rotate. "But what do you mean by-" I try to say, but a man with dark hair and stubble comes up behind her grabbing a bunch of papers. "We have a hysterical student!" he says hurriedly. "Can you call senior management Annabeth?"

Anna-Beth? I think. Momentarily imagining the receptionist as the Percy Jackson character.

The receptionist nods and starts making phone calls. For some reason I still stay standing there expecting answers. "Is there anything I can help with you, young man?" the man asks.

"Uh..No thank you." I smile at him, turn and walk away, pulling out the papers the receptionist gave me. But what she said is still bugging me. I swear the teacher's eyes bore into the back of my head as I climb up the stairs, following in India's footsteps. The hallways are clear, so the only sound is my footsteps and I can hear the faint sound of laughing and talking coming from passing classrooms.

The school itself is admittedly a work of art. Murals are on every corridor in the art department. Five in total. It looks like students just splashed multi-coloured paint all over them, but' it's pretty awesome.

I make my way up to the Art block, which turns out to the very top floor so I find myself climbing up at least seven staircases. When I arrive at the classroom door and peer in there's at least twenty students sat around a long marble table on stools. There's a middle aged guy with a beard talking and I'm guessing that's Mr. Prescott. Of course my anxiety kicks in and my stomach flips a few times so I stay outside, glued to the floor for a few moments. I don't know what else to do. Walking in is not an option right now. Not while I feel like projectile vomiting. I settle on standing there stupidly, staring into the art classroom and trying to recognise any faces I saw this morning. Mainly Indie's.

My eyes trail across the table, taking in different kids.. A girl with red hair and a lip piercing who was very obviously on her phone under the table and two guys secretly passing immature notes to each-other whilst trying not to crack up laughing. There was a group of girls sat together, and my mind already labelled them as the 'popular' girls judging from their heavily made up faces and altered uniform. There was a guy sat by the window slouched on his stool with short brown hair cut into an edgy fringe. He seemed to be staring outside, lost in thought. His eyes were almost drooped, lips in a tight line as if he was about to start crying any second. In contrast to everyone else, who are talking animatedly to each-other despite the teacher's yells to shut up, he was quiet and didn't move. I can't help stare at him. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the boy has suddenly turned around, and is staring at me right in the eyes. And so in fact are the whole class and Mr. Prescott.

I panic, the nauseous feeling in my stomach getting worse. "Come in!" the teacher booms, and through the glass, the class keep their eyes on me. All looking amused. Yet the boy turns his head back to the window. Fuck. I grab the door handle and its cold in my sweaty palm. Before I know what I'm doing I'm pushing the door open and stumbling over to the teacher. "Hi, sorry. I'm uh..new." I manage to choke out. And Mr. Prescott. Oh god, he's actually in front of me in the flesh instead of through the glass in the door. Once I'm in the room I can actually hear the boys with the immature notes laughing, and the popular girls giggling quietly. Despite the teacher eyeing me with the most disapproving look I've ever been given, I look straight past him at the quiet boy by the window.

"Is it Phil?" the teacher snaps me out of it and I return my gaze to him.?" He's smirking at me as if he knew I was staring at the quiet boy. "Phil Lester?" Mr Prescott smiles broadly. "Welcome to 11T!" she says enthusiastically, gesturing to the class. "We're a mad bunch." He winks at me and the class laugh with him. I think I'm starting to like my new form tutor. "Right!" Mr Prescott once again booms to 11T. "Who's going to be Phil's buddy for the day?" I squirm and feel my face blush. Spoke too soon.

At the teachers remark the class groaned and made faces. I too groaned and made a face. Hoping I looked as mortified as I felt. "Oh, come on we can't have Mr Lester going around with no friends!" Mr Prescott says, and I detect sarcasm. I decide at that moment that I hate him. He looks like my dad would if I still knew him personally. Wearing a dorky suit with his tie loosened.

"Lucy?" The teacher picks out students at random. "Do you want to be Phil's buddy?"

Now I know what it's like to be Will from The Inbetweener's. I think to myself as Lucy, a girl with short blonde hair and bright red lipstick shakes her head in an are you kidding me sir?

"I'll just sit down!" I don't mean to sound so desperate but I feel as if my insides are collapsing on themselves. Pathetic tears burn my eyes as rejection once again hits me. Along with paranoia.

I hurry over and plonk myself down on a stool next to a guy with a similar hairstyle to mine. He's sitting there pretty quiet, elbows on the tables and sleeves rolled up. He has a couple of MUSE badges on his school tie so I subconsciously approve of his music taste. Though while I compliment him in my mind, in reality I'm tomato red and my hands won't stop shaking so I shove them under the table. Mr Prescott scolds the class for being rude but there's still a smile on his face and I think again of Travis Holmes and the face he pulled when I snapped. Does Mr Prescott know I'm 'unhinged' as my mother would say? Does he know I was kicked of my last school?

"Right guys," the teacher's voice suddenly turns solemn and the mood in the room hits rock bottom. The girls stop laughing about random shit and the immature boys stop passing notes.

I notice the boy next to me start to fidget. His knees knock against mine under the table and I bite back the urge to ask him do you have to do that?

"Now without putting a downer on things, we all know what's coming up in a few weeks." The teacher leans against the table with his arms folded. All amusement gone from his expression.

What teacher says 'downer'? I wonder to myself to stop myself pondering other things. Like what was 'coming up' in a few weeks and why has Mr Fidget next to me suddenly gone white as a sheep.

I can't help turning around to glance at the quiet boy by the window. He hasn't moved. His gaze still on the outside. Though like Mr Fidget the colour has drained from his face.

"Sir, it won't happen again," one of the girls on the opposite side of the table speaks up. She has red hair in a ponytail with matching lipstick. "they've caught the killer," she says as-matter-of-factly. "I saw it on Crime-watch."

Mr Prescott eyes the girl with raised eyebrows. "Bree, this is a very serious matter. Five students are dead and the school are taking no chances this month."

The girl- Bree- shrugs her shoulders. "I never spoke to any of them, Sir, so to be honest I don't really care?" she twirls a loose strand of hair around her finger. "I just want to pass my GSCE's,"

'its GCSE's you moron," a guy with short black hair and a sullen expression sat next to Bree corrects her. He momentarily meets my eyes but looks away quickly.

I want to say something. But I'm tongue-tied. My mind was struggling to register what the teacher was saying. Five dead students. From this school. Was it a monthly thing? Was a kid killed every month?!

Mum did you read the small print before sending me here?

"That's good to know, Bree." Mr Prescott is glaring at the girl. "When you go to college next year and want a referral from me, don't even bother asking."

The class go silent and Bree ducks her head, her cheeks going a tremendous scarlet.

"Anyway," the teacher sighs, rubbing his chin. He's eyeing the quiet boy by the window for some reason and once again I twist around and follow his eyes, spotting bright orange headphone wires dangling down his school shirt. So the boy's listening to music. Not lost in thought. And it looks like Mr. Prescott is relieved that the boy isn't in on the class discussion.

"I can't stress enough, guys. The woods are out of bounds STRICTLY after 5pm, okay? We want to fully block them off but the council are being asses about it." Mr Prescott had adopted a stern tone now and he finally sounded like a teacher. I look around the class and everyone- even Bree have blank expressions. Wide eyes. Fear. They're scared. I glance at Mr Fidget sitting next to me, and I swear I can detect a smirk on his lips. Eyes bright rather than fearful. He almost looks smug.

He must be thinking about something funny in his mind. I feel a knock against my knee and once again he's shuddering, But the smirk on his lips is growing and making me feel really uneasy.

At that moment we lock gazes and he lifts a finger to his lips in a shhh motion.

Okay that sets off alarm bells in my head.

I frown at him but he grins and mouths; behind you.

Mr Prescott is still talking to the class about the dangers of the woods along with the mysterious deaths of five students, but his voice sounds far away as I turn around slowly. Following Mr Fidgets gaze.

The window. He's staring at the window, where there's a black splodge stuck to the glass- no, it's not a black splodge. It's a bird. The window is dyed a dirty scarlet where its feathers have stuck to the glass. Its beak has snapped off and the remnants of its insides are on show clearly in a deep dark red.

I have trouble holding down the Twix bar mum forced me to eat this morning and swallow stiffly. I can't seem to take my eyes off it. The poor thing- it was probably scared as fuck.

"Phil? Are you okay?"

I snap out of it and turn back around to find Mr Prescott frowning at me. Eyebrows dipped in alarm. Concern painted on his expression. I blink a few times and feel moisture on my cheeks and lift a shaky hand feeling tears trailing down my face. Was he ever looking at me? I focus on the boy, and notice the smirk is gone. So are the bright eyes. He's looking as down and sullen as everyone else.

"Yes." I say, or rather choke. "Yeah, just the- the bird-" I turn to point to the poor thing stuck to the window, but when I turn, my heart sinks and I gawk in confusion. The window is clear. No traces of the dead bird. When I turn back to Mr Prescott and the class they're all gaping at me as if I was crazy.

"What bird?" the teacher repeats before making his way over to me. He crouches in front of me and his eyes are full of concern and warmth, boring into my own. A few kids start whispering furiously at the other side of the table.

"That's what you-know-who said! y'know, before he-"

"Molly, shut up." The teacher gives her a look and his gaze returns to me. "Phil." He says quietly. "What bird?"

I can't speak. The teacher sounds demanding, almost desperate. And the girl- Molly's- words repeat in my mind. I should say something. I should. But I can't. I'll sound crazy.

I'm stumbling and stammering over my words as I rake my brain for an excuse. "Sorry," I whisper. Then clear my throat. "Sorry sir, I was daydreaming." And then I catch the quiet boy by the windows eyes. He's staring right at me. And it's at that moment when I know he knows what I saw.

Mr Prescott rises back up, looking relieved. But there's still a hint of alarm in his eyes. "You won't get through this school by daydreaming Mr Lester," he shoots me a warm smile and I force one back.

The bell rings then and everyone jumps up, grabbing their bags and finding their friends.

"Remember we have assembly tomorrow!" Mr Prescott yells over the commotion of stools squeaking on the floor and chatter. "Don't turn up to assembly, that's an automatic after school detention," he eyed a boy holding hands with Bree with shaggy red hair. "That means you too Sam."

The boy- Sam nods enthusiastically at the teacher but there's a gleam in his eyes.

"Right! Have a good break guys! Remember what I told you about the woods." Mr Prescott stands by the door and lets everyone out. I stand up and grab my bag, intending to walk out, but someone grabs my arm. A small part of me hopes it's the quiet boy. But when I turn, Mr Fidget is standing there with a friendly smile on his face. "Phil right?" he pats me on the shoulder and shakes his black hair out of his eyes. I nod and smile back uneasily. The quiet boy has already walked out.

"Nice to meet you man!" Mr Fidget grins at me, and I can't help thinking back to the shark grin he sent my way earlier.

I was imagining that though, right?

"Listen, do you want me to give you a tour of the school?" the boy asks.

"Uh- yeah sure!" I smile and walk over to the door. Mr Prescott's gone and the corridor's pretty empty of kids.

"Yeah." The boy's looking at his phone, texting furiously whilst slowly making his way over.

"Oh, I'm Dean by the way." The boy looks up from his phone sending me a smile and before I can say anything, there's a loud thud startling me. This time I see it hitting the window.

Another dead bird. In the same state as the last one. Splattered all over the glass, gore decorating the entire pane.

"Mate?"

Dean's by the door, and he's giving me the same look as Mr Prescott earlier. "Hey, are you okay?" his eyes are clouded with worry. "Whoa mate, you've gone white as a sheep!"

Once again I look at the window and – what a surprise- there's nothing there.

"Yeah, just…tired." I mumble, before following Dean out of the classroom, not looking back.

I'm going crazy.

Part 3

"And this mate, is the cafeteria!"

Dean hadn't really spoken during the 'tour' round the school. Which wasn't really a 'tour' after all, break was only fifteen minutes, followed by an hour of Art, which I had chosen as one of my GCSE subjects. That and Film Studies, media, and Photography. Nobody I knew were in my art class, apart from the quiet boy in form, who came to sit near me at the start and I think he had intentions to speak to me, but the teacher Mr Saunders called him out of class and spent most of the hour and thirty minutes talking to him. I still don't know the quiet boys name. I was too busy enthralled in drawing the woods outside in my sketch book. I guess the only positive of having a supposedly haunted woods surrounding your school, is that there are some pretty awesome angles of it to draw. I spent most of the lesson bent over my sketch book on a lone stool by the wide window spreading over a whole wall which looked eight floors down on the school grounds.

I've always loved to draw. It's my way of relaxing, where else some people like to write with their earphones corked in to their favourite indie band, there's me who prefers to listen the sounds around me. I don't listen to conversation and muttered chatter, it's more the white noise what it brings.

As I sketch I think about Dean and Mr Prescott, and the strange receptionist women Anna-Beth and what she said. I think about Travis Holmes and his sparkly shark grin as he taunted me outside my locker. I thought about his nose, broken and spurting crimson after I had threw a punch with all the strength and anger built up inside me, straight into unsuspecting eyes.

I'm not going to lie, hitting Travis felt fucking good. Watching him sprawled in the school corridor unconscious amid fifty or so kids in our year. I remember the exact moment the bully hit the floor with a yowl of agony, and all eyes went to me. Horror and shock was plastered on the faces of my classmates, and some of them; amusement. It felt good to finally crack.

I tell myself not to think about the birds and the killings in the woods. I refuse to succumb to my overactive imagination.

I followed Dean inside the lunch room, keeping my eyes on the floor. Students clad with the school colours, red and blue ties and black jumpers milled around carrying lunch trays waiting to be served by a women who resembled the demon headmaster. She stood with a permanent scowl on her face, spooning soggy mash potato and what looked like mouldy casserole on dinner plates. Only one lunch lady, and she looked like a fucking corpse. I followed Dean, practically stumbling around the cafeteria, shouldering past girls and hissing apologies when I slammed into a group of boys. The whole time I kept an eye out for Indie, the strange girl I had met in the woods. Even the quiet boy sat near the boy in my form.

"Mate, hurry up, I want to introduce you to some of my friends," I momentarily lost Dean in the crowd of kids and instead followed his voice which kept yelling out at me. "Phil? Hey, where've you gone?" a sudden chuckle in my ear made me nearly jump a mile and I span round to find him standing there smirking. Standing either side of him was a girl with long blonde curly hair and huge lipsticky smile, and a boy with short cropped brown hair. The girl was grinning politely as well as the boy and Dean, which seemed even stranger. Dean and his friends seemed like the only ones not fussed by these mysterious killings. "Hi!" the girl smiled at me and her bright green eyes glinted with something I couldn't make out. "You're Phil right?" she had the uniform on with platform heels and red ribbons in her hair. Unlike my old school, you could alter your uniform to your heart's content here. I set my eyes on the boy, and yes, he too has a grin a bit too wide for comfort stretching across his face. He's has band badges on his tie and backpack which is over his shoulder. I squint to recognise the names.

"Hey!" the boy smiles at me, snapping me out of it and I jump, looking back at his face. He offers me his hand. His voice sounds strange- foreign. No- American. "Names Felix!" he points to himself. "And this is Carrie," he gestures to the girl who waves excitedly. "Hello! " she beams.

"Hi," I smile at them, and don't really know what to do, so I shake Felix's hand and he grips it firmly. "Welcome to Briarwood." He murmurs, momentarily giving me the creepiest smile I have ever witnessed.

Maybe I imagined it. Because, like earlier with Dean's almost identical smile, it turned out to be my imagination.

Dean Dobbs, which Dean properly introduced himself as, spreads his arms out in a sort of 'Tada!" gesture and I cringe for what felt like the millionth time since I have met him. Dean was, admittedly, a strange boy. He was different from the majority of the student body I had seen, who all seemed to be in their own little world. It didn't matter what year they were in, every student was in a daze. Every eye I caught seemed to look right through me or quickly glance away. Dean Dobbs and his friends were the only ones in Briarwood, who could hold my gaze for more than five seconds. That, for some reason, chilled me to the bone.

"So!" Carrie began with a roll of her eyes at Dean and Felix, who seemed to have their gazes stuck on me. I smile uncomfortably and look at the floor.

"Amidst the awkwardness, can we sit down now?" Carrie nodded at me and Dean and Felix both had twin smiles and gestured forward, but didn't say anything.

"So, Phil," Felix fixed me with a knowing smirk, his arm snaking around my waist so he could lead me to where they sat. "How are you finding Briarwood so far?"

Weird. Anything but normal. You're all strange and I don't trust you for some reason. "Good!" my words were lies and they sounded like lies. But Felix's expression didn't change. "Good to know!" he drawled in that too-happy American accent and I didn't think I could feel more uncomfortable.

Felix keeps one arm wrapped around my waist the whole way to their table and I try not to look anyone passing in the eye. Eventually we stop at a table near the window with five kids sat sprawled on stools chatting animatedly.

"Guys!" Felix shouts, and I think for a second that with a voice like that, he could silence the entire lunchroom. I practically throw myself down onto a stool and automatically regret it when a red-head with her legs up, book on knees, looks up and shoots me a glare. "That's Dan's seat!" she hisses.

"Ah, sorry, I'll..um…move." I stammer, my breath hitching in my throat. I feel my cheeks go scarlet and the red-head just stares at me. Something seems to snap in her head and when I try and move she sighs. "Never mind, urgh, just sit there okay?" she casts her gaze to Felix, who's busy introducing me loudly to the rest of the table. "Just do me a favour?" she leans over and blows her fringe out of her eyes. "After this, never speak to us again, okay?" she whispers. Her words chill me and my eyes sting. Rejection hits me hard and I struggle to breathe. The red-head nods once and then leans back on her stool going back to her book. I can't help but stare at her. Not because she's pretty. I mean she looks like a young Hayley Williams with crimson red hair tied into a ponytail with a fringe falling in cat-like green eyes, which stare intently at the book in her lap. Every so often she'd take a bite out of the cereal bar in her free hand. But her eyes aren't on the book.

I don't even think she's reading. She keeps looking up and glancing at me for a split second, before tearing her gaze away quickly. Back to the book which she almost stares through. She has a similar expression as the quiet boy in my form room and Art class. Haunted.

"Phil!" Felix snaps me out of it once again and the red-head rolls her eyes at me before going back to her book. I turn and force a smile at Felix, who's practically sitting on Dean's lap. "Mate, could you be anymore gay?" Dean was laughing with the others. But the red-head stays silent and to herself.

"Right, introductions," Felix shoots me a grin and I force a laugh. "Ah, right great!" and Felix familiarizes the strangers around me. There's Dean and Carrie, who I already know. Then there's Luke, another red-head, sat next to the girl with the attitude. He pulls a ace teasingly at me and throws a cheese string at me as a form of friendship- I think. Then there's Chris and PJ, two boys who stare at me the whole time, and never smile. Chris is small and stocky like Dean and PJ, tall and wiry with dark brown hair, Chris too.

"Caspar and Joe!" Felix points at two guys who have also joined in with the laugh. Caspar has blonde hair streaked dark reaching his ears with a smile which looked so forced it nearly matched mine. His friend, Joe, seemed to have a genuine smile. Joe had similar hair a bit darker, with olive skin.

"Hey Phil," Caspar says gruffly, yet again with that forced grin. I smile back. Note to self: don't talk to him.

"Phil." Joe smiles and offers me a jammy dodger, which I take and send him a questioning smile.

Felix is pointing to two girls now. Blonde and brunette. They're not sat down though; they're standing with their arms folded.

The brunette is admittedly very pretty, her hair in a plait clipped on the right side of her head. She had olive skin like Joe and her lips are a shade of red which fits her skin perfectly. I notice resemblances between her and Joe and it hits me. They're brother and sister. She's wearing a checker dress with tights and platform heels. The blonde is pretty too, a bigger build than the brunette with short bouncy blonde hair to her shoulders.

"Zoë and Louise," Felix introduces them, to which they both look confused for a second, their eyes following Felix's gaze and widen upon seeing me. They then send me twin looks of what looks like terror and the blonde hisses something to the brunette before flipping off Felix and the brunette fixes her eyes on Joe. "Joe, I need to talk to you." She says seriously.

"Don't mind these two, mate," Felix grins at me. "They're not part of our…" he shrugs and seems to consider his words. "…gang," he decides.

"Fuck off Felix!" the blonde- Louise, suddenly explodes. Her expression isn't angry, its fearful. She doesn't yell, but she hisses at him through gritted teeth. "You're at it again, are you?" she spits, her gaze flitting to me.

What?

"Louise." Felix sighs, and the boys around him, Dean included, chortle at the two girls. The boy raises an eyebrow at her. "What are you on about?"

Louise is bright red now. She looks like the kind of girl who'd normally keep to herself. "You know what I mean!" she almost cries. "You're after another one?!" her voice cracks and she steadies herself and her pretty blue eyes narrow at Felix. "Wasn't Dan enough?" she growls. "Or Alex?!"

Who are Dan and Alex?

Felix's grin disappears. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, but his tone suggests otherwise. Dean and the others stop laughing and they too turn serious. The red-headed girl looks up from her book.

It's the brunette- or Zoe's turn to yell now. While Louise was shouting, she was staring at Joe looking like she was about to burst out crying.

"You brainwashed my brother and Caspar!" Zoe shrieks, and this time a few looks come out way from other students.

"I should go to the police!" Zoe whispers, her tone getting progressively louder in pitch. She grabs her hair and tears at it, tears rolling down her cheeks. Joe just stares at her with a dumb look on his face.

Like he's not really seeing her.

"Zoe," Joe smiles calmly at her. And Caspar rolls his eyes. "Just go, okay?"

"Joe," Zoe grits her teeth, Her eyes are smudged red raw but she still forces a smile. "Please just come with me?" she sniffs and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her dress. "It's like- it's like you're not even there!" she whimpers.

"You're making a fool out of yourself." Joe sighs.

Zoe doesn't stop. She carries on freaking out, and I start to regret following Felix. Oh god what have I got myself into?

Who are Dan and Alex? What's Felix done to these guys?!

"Oh god, I can't- I can't… I fucking can't get the police because they won't believe me!" Zoe starts to cry properly now, and I wonder if she was the hysterical student earlier. "Now you're going to do it toAlex- like what you did to Dan, and- and HIM!" hysterical eyes are suddenly on me and both girls string out a bunch of whispered curses. Eventually Zoë stops crying and bends down so she's eye width with Felix, who's smirking. Her eyes, puffy and red, meet his, narrowed and glinted. "C'mon Zoe." Felix murmurs. "You know what happens now. We've had this conversation before."

Zoe only stares at him before sniffing hard and wiping her nose. "You might think you've got away with this- with your sick little cult- but I swear to god, you let my brother go, and the others, or I'll-"

I catch Caspar mouthing something to himself. He notices me staring and smirks. "Watch this," he mouths. And I frown at him in confusion.

What?

Are you

Are you

Coming to the tree

They strung up a man

Who said they murdered three

Strange things did happen there

No stranger would it be

It we met at midnight

In the hanging tree

A boy's voice wakes me up.

From what? Why was I sleeping?

"S'alright, I scared them off-"a pause. "I think."

I feel undergrowth beneath me. I'm lying on my stomach on what feels like grass and dead leaves. I groan and sweep the floor with my hand, feeling dirt between my fingers. My eyes snap open and my vision swims into focus. Green. No…black and green. I tilt my head confused. I'm staring at the sky/ Surrounded by trees above me. "What?" I mutter, trying to relocate a memory before right now. And I can- kind of. Lunchtime. Meeting Felix's friends and then coming out here- into Wycombe woods- in the dark?!

When did it get dark?

"Hey sleepy-head, when you planning on getting up?"

I groan. "The floor's good thanks," I reply, but when I squint, there's nobody here. When I shuffle and look around properly, I see no one.

"Wait, scare away who?" I remember the boy's words and frown. "Hey, who's there? What the hell's going on?"

There's no reply, and I stay on my back, staring at the sky and trying to grasp how it got dark- what time it is, and what the fuck happened.

"Hi!" A figure suddenly swings into my vision and I let out a scream, my arms flying out to protect myself. "What?!" I sit up gasping for breath and shivering and look around. I scan the woods twice. No sign of anyone.

"Hello?" I stay sat down, all my instincts telling me to up and run, but instead I pull my knees to my chest and try and curl up into a ball.

"Are you seriously just going to wimp away from me?" the voice teases, and I look up quickly, once again scanning the clearing.

"Who are you?" I say, or rather whisper. Then finding my voice; "Who did you scare away? I don't- I don't understand!"

"First of all, dude," the voice says. And I whip round to search for someone- anyone. But there's nobody there. I'm alone. Though how can I be?

"You gotcha memory erased," the boy's voice continues, and it feels like he's right in front of me. There's a chuckle. "You can't see me, you spoon."

I try to wrap my head around all of this. "Spell?!" I choke out a laugh, and when he doesn't laugh back, I feel a chill up my spine.

"How about, instead of questions, you get your ass out of here?" the boy says, and the logic sets in. I'm in a forest in the pitch black. A forest which is strictly banned to enter, because of student killings.

In this very forest.

I jump up, and my sense of direction disperses with my sense of balance. Before I know what I'm doing I'm toppling over, but strong arms catch me and steady me on my feet. I should be freaking out. There's someone here, but I can't see him. I can only hear and fucking feel him.

"I don't know where to go!" I cry. And my gut clenches, my breath catches in my throat. I'm familiar with this feeling. It's fear. Pure fear.

"Dude, it's okay," the boy's voice calms me for some reason. I take a few shaky breaths. "Okay-okay fucking Mr. Invisible. Help would be appreciated." I whimper, stumbling over a fallen log.

It's okay, I'll guide you. Mind if I touch you?" the boy's voice is silky smooth, almost hypnotising. It calms me slightly, and my heartbeat decreases.

"Okay," I breathe. "Umm…sure? but who are you? Why can't- why can't I see you?"

"Might feel a bit weird. Sorry," he doesn't answer my question, but I feel something snaking into my hand, the iciness of it stills my laboured breath and it takes me a few seconds to realize that it's his hand.

I don't say it. I don't question his hand feeling like a block of ice.

"Right, it's just through here- fuck! Don't trip!" a weightless tug of his hand, which doesn't feel like its attached to an arm and I'm stumbling over a rock, narrowly missing bumping into it thanks to him.

"Thanks?!" I hiss, but it's more like a question.

Speaking of questions….

"What's your name?" I ask, and quickly add; "I'm Phil, by the way."

He pauses and sighs. "I'm- a friend," he says. "If you must know, I'm looking out for someone, but you come into the picture, and I have to look out for you now too."

"Look out for me?" I repeat. I can see the glow of a lamppost meaning we're nearly out of the woods. The boy leads me through a thicket of trees until we arrive at the cleaning- and no surprise- there's mum's car.

And there's mum. Standing there with what looks like my form tutor.

"Someone's in trouble," he chuckles, and I turn away from mum and Mr. Prescott to get a last look- maybe properly see him this time.

But no…I'm staring at nothing but tree's.

"Do me a favour, hang out with Alex tomorrow, yeah?" the boy's voice is getting softer and more faded. Despite everything I nod.

"Phil!" mum spots me and is running over. Before I can ask the boy what the hell had just happened, I'm engulfed in a hug by my mother. I smell her expensive perfume and bury my head in her shoulder. I'm crazy. This must look insane. Sat at lunch with Felix and his friends one minute, then lying in the forest in the pitch black.

Oh, not forgetting talking to some fucking invisible boy.

"What were you thinking?!" mum is yelling at me, and Mr. Prescott is lecturing me, but I just stare at them, dazed.

What just happened?

Hope you guys like this ahah…review maybe? :3


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